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It wasn't that Simon hadn't ever fucked before. There had been exactly one woman who'd welcomed him into her body, thus fulfilling the Christianized definition of 'losing your virginity', and he'd come- of course he had, she was hot and tight and wet, even with the unnerving experience endured with her staring in his eyes the whole time.
He'd been smart before her, only dating girls who were saving themselves for marriage, or Jesus, or whatever, and smarter again after that, finally starting to date men. And with them, the staring during missionary wasn't unnerving, and certainly wasn't a thing to be endured. He lost his virginity again, in the very un-Christian way, and eventually stopped hiding it. He joked sometimes that Beth had bullied him into it, but really, she’d just shown him what it was like to be accepted. How good it could be.
He and Beth had a strange relationship, for her being his brother’s wife. Or maybe not a strange one. She took being his sister, even if it was -in-law, seriously, demanding details of dates and hookups, and if neither was happening, helping set something up.
Tommy accused her of fetishizing the gays once, and she'd demanded he count how much lesbian porn he'd costumed and ended the discussion- until that evening, she'd quietly and privately asked Simon if she was overstepping. He'd said no, with honesty, and promised to tell her if she ever did.
And then he'd died. That was okay, though. He'd made it back.
And then they died. And they didn't come back.
Simon Riley survived his own death. Ghost hadn't crawled out of that coffin, contrary to popular belief. He'd still been Simon, just a little less heart beat, a little more undead.
No, it was their deaths that Simon shared. That was where Ghost came into the picture. Dying hadn't killed Simon, loss had.
Sometimes he wondered if Beth would've been able to rebuild him, convince him to live like a human, to find joy again. She'd done it once, been the one to make him feel like he could be capital O out. But that was a fruitlessly cyclical thought experiment- if they hadn't all died, he wouldn't need someone to coax him back to life.
So he'd stopped having sex. A lot lost appeal when everyone died. He'd stopped doing a lot of things. Except killing. He kept doing that.
John 'Soap' MacTavish was supposed to be a partner in that, in killing, and he'd been so good that he'd promoted himself one night, smoking outside before bed and boldly saying he'd rather look at Ghost than the stars, which was saying something for a county-reared scottish boy. And Ghost had approved the promotion by pulling his mask up and letting Johnny kiss him.
They'd just kissed a few times, and then over the next few days had the conversations about whether it was a fling or a proper thing, if they should tell Price, how they should tell Price, which of them had told Price, how much money Price got from winning the bet with Gaz.
Ghost figured being undead was something he ought to disclose, but was emotionally constipated enough to put it off as long as he could, getting himself good and anxious until Soap had him flat out on his bed, gasping as Soap licked up his neck and all he could think is does he know I don't have a pulse can he feel it .
And even then, he still was balking, and Soap had to drive the bus a little bit. Abandoning his clearly-failing task of turning his Lieutenant to mush, he sat back on his heels and frowned down at him.
He knows, he feels it, he can tell -
But it wasn't disgust or horror in his eyes, not even anger. Those clear blue-greys were more worried than anything.
"Simon? What's wrong? And don't ," he continued hotly when Ghost opened his mouth a little too quickly, "say nothin'. I am no leaving yer lap till ye tell me what's got ye all scunnered."
"I'm… I have to tell you something before this goes any further."
Soap stared at him, letting him go on. Ghost drew a tenuous breath.
"My callsign isn't just a moniker. I'm…"
"It's alright, I'm not gonna flounce, whatever ye gottae say."
"I'm dead," he choked out.
"Oh. I thought- mm."
"You thought what?" Ghost pursued, looking for anything other than himself to talk about. Soap took the bait. He always did.
"Well, I thought ye were trans or something."
"Do I look trans?" Ghost demanded, surprised by that little misattribution.
Soap's brows met. "Whit's that flap about? Trans isn't always about looks, Si." He agreed sheepishly, apologizing, making a mental note of that- Soap had a brother who was still building himself, as he liked to say rather than transitioning, and Ghost had asked endless questions when Soap had told him it was okay to ask. "Anyway, we were talkin' about you. Yer… dead? How's that?"
Soap always took the bait, but when it was something about Simon, he always came back to it.
"It's just like being alive, but dead."
" Ghost ."
"I don't get hot or cold. Don't run out of breath, but breathing is still a habit. No pulse, my heart doesn't beat. I don't really bleed-"
He'd stopped talking as Soap put his fingers under his chin, on his jugular, feeling.
His mouth dropped open, and Ghost looked at him with shy, sad eyes.
"How?" Soap managed.
"I think it was something Roba did."
"So that whole thing bout digging yerself out a grave…?"
"I don't know if they actually buried me alive. Maybe they killed me before I even went in the ground. Or that was what killed me. Or maybe it was well before that, during the torture, and I didn't notice. I only started to notice when I wasn't suffocating in the coffin, but I thought… maybe adrenaline was keeping me alive, or all the things I'd heard about suffocating from being buried was wrong… and I thought it was weird that I wasn't cooking in the heat when I was trying to get out of Mexico. There were two other that were… like me. Washington and xxx. I killed them, and… they got up. So I killed them again. And burned them."
"So… will you go up 'round fire?"
"No. I smoke, don't I? They burned just like normal bodies."
"Okay, so… whit's mean for us, then?" Soap took one of Ghost's hands in both of his. Ghost wanted to never let go, stay here between his thighs, under his gaze, in his hands, forever.
"I don't really know. Just thought that you should know what you're getting into."
"Oh. Oh, Si," a thumb stroked over his still, bloodless wrist. "This doesnae change how I feel about ye. Not ane damn thing."
Ghost had to sit up and kiss him, then. It was sweet and even a little teary, and the mood was gone, but Soap seemed satisfied with asking Ghost questions about everything.
"So can ye swim fer ever?"
"Why'd'ye breathe hard after sparring, then?"
"Why d'ye eat?"
"How d'ye heal if ye havenae got blood and… all them- them cells, an all that?"
"Are ye gonnae live fer ever?"
Mostly all Soap learned was that just because Simon was undead didn’t mean he knew anything about it. He just was. Dead. That was all.
Finally, one night after a drink- just one, just enough to ease anxieties- Soap asked another question.
"How come ye told me before we were gonnae have sex?"
"Dunno. Just seemed like the sort of thing you ought to disclose to your sex partner."
"Hang on." Soap set the glass down, directing his full attention at Simon, something Simon would never tire of. "Ye said Price and me are the only anes you've told."
"Yeah." Simon could see where this was going, and picked his glass up, finishing the bourbon.
"So… you havenae had sex with Price."
"Absolutely not."
"Then… ye haven't had sex since ye died?"
"Guess not."
"Doessat mean yer a virgin again?" Simon made a face, and Soap got to see all of it- it was just the two of them in Simon's quarters, having a nightcap and watching Netflix on a tablet.
"I thought virginity wasn't real, specially not if you're gay." Soap had taught Simon a lot of things he'd never had a chance to learn, too busy getting the shit kicked out of him by his dad to have an exploratory liberal teen phase.
"It's- ye, fair, but… steamin' jesus, Si, that's a long time to go without sex. Do- I ner even asked, I'm so sorry- do ye even wannae have sex?"
"Yeah."
"Then why not before me?"
Simon shrugged, and had to look away as his face pinkened a little when he spoke his next words. "I… want to have sex with you, but before you, I… didn't. And I… I didn't even want to…"
Soap had somehow gotten on his knees on the futon, leaning close to Simon, face rapt with disbelief and awe.
"Are ye tellin' me ye havenae even got off since ye died?!"
"It's not a big deal."
"Can ye even get hard?!"
"Yes," Simon told him, giving him a flat stare.
"And ye don't…"
"I have a shower or I think about Price getting food poisoning." There wasn't much better dick-shriveling content than his superior almost father-like-figure, lying on the floor of a bathroom in Dubai, stinking like bile and mouth bright orange from whatever turmeric-heavy meat had disagreed with him.
"That's…"
"Weird? Stupid?" Shameful ? No, he wouldn't admit his shame to Soap. Couldn't.
"Och, I ner said that. Jest… not something I can wrap me head round. Have ye always had this amount of libido?"
"No. I was never sure if it was my death, or my family's death that killed it."
"Ah, gotcha. Huh. But… ye wannae have sex wit me, hm?" Soap leered playfully, thumbing at his chin.
Ghost ducked his head to kiss his fingerprint. "Yeah. You?"
"I've always had a pretty high engine," Soap laughed, unashamed. "An I'm very much fer being wit yer bonnie self in all ways ye want. Not if ye donnae want, course."
"I do, though. Want."
"Right."
Soap swung a leg over Simon's, plucked the glass from his hand and set it aside.
"You're fine with having sex with me? Even though I'm dead?"
"If ye say the word necrophilia, so help me jesus-"
"No, just making sure." He'd thought Soap would leave him. He was sure . "We're going to have sex. Now. Right?"
"Ye want to?"
"Yeah."
"Well, then. Let's have sex. Whit's the worst that could happen?" Soap said with a roll of his eyes and a flash of his teeth, before he sealed his mouth to Simon's.
His words were true, especially with a lapful of stunning Scottsman and a tongue in his mouth. Dead or not, he burned for him, especially now. He smelled like peppery, masculine deodorant and sugary hair gel. Tasted like whiskey and life.
Simon chased it. He chased that life, not because he didn't have it, but because it was Johnny's, and everything Johnny was, Simon wanted.
There was no gentle lips moving against lips, silent requests for mouths and tongues. It started right out open, Soap licking into Simon's mouth like he needed him, and maybe he did, because Simon needed him back.
His hands gripped his hips and flexed when Johnny rolled them.
It wasn't the first time they'd made out on the couch, not the first time Simon had been subject to this. Not at all. Because Johnny kissed with his whole body. If they were sitting, Johnny ended up between his legs, or vice versa, so close did he crowd in. Or standing, Johnny manhandled him to close the distance with a fistful of hair, or mask, or occasionally a cheeky yank of one of the straps on his gear. He was breathy and rolling, always in motion, always cranking it up a notch.
And Simon rode those turbulent kisses like a man begging to be drowned.
One of Johnny's thumbs had slipped under the hem of his shirt and moved searchingly up, so Simon complied with the unspoken request and leaned back to pull his shirt off, demanding with his eyes that Johnny do so as well before they got back to kissing. He did, like a good soldier, so Simon raised the bar another notch, leaning in to roughly lick up his sternum, up to his throat, deliberately pushing breath over the sensitive, dampened skin, earning a rough shiver from Soap.
Johnny yanked on his hair, and Simon let him, licking under his chin, up his jaw, dragging spit-soaked, kiss-swollen lips along the sharp edge, the stubble audible against his mouth.
"Pick me up an throw me an the bed," Soap hissed, and Simon rushed to do just that. The Scott landed with a bounce and a grin, and Simon dove over him, chasing that joy.
Fuck, he wanted. Needed . Soap was so hot, and so were his own trousers, the need simmering low and heavy. Hard. He was hard, and he pressed himself against Soap to find that he was, too. Perfect. It was all so perfect. Just what they needed.
Soap's hands were all over him, up his chest, testing his nipples for a reaction- and he got one, a stuttered breath Simon didn't even need, and a little adjustment of his knees to plant one between Soap's thighs instead of around them, letting him grind even more deliciously up against him.
Simon took advantage of having his mouth freed up to push Soap down a moment, hand splayed wide on his chest, sweat-slick under his palm, heaving, animalistic. He looked down at him, drinking in the fat, red lips, the arched neck bared just for him, trusting and submitting, nipples dark and chest surprisingly lightly haired. His knees had fallen apart, opening himself fully to Simon, and when he realized he was being looked at, he blinked up hazily, wet lips still parted for breath, and deliberately ground himself against Simon's thigh, letting him see the flutter of his eyelids, the want, the bliss. The pleasure that promised more.
More. Simon needed more, to give him more, and his hands grasped the button of his trousers.
When Soap whimpered as Simon's fingers slid under the jeans, low down his pubis to pull open the button, Simon thought he might die again. He needed that sound again.
The sides of his trousers were in his hands, and they were open, but he hadn't undone the zipper. He blinked.
"Fuckin' hell," he muttered as Soap lifted his head to look, gasp, and break into laughter.
"Ya greedy bastard, cannae even do a zip right? Ye must really want it."
"You, Johnny. Want you ," Simon rumbled, silencing his teasing and laughing by roughly palming his cock through his stretched briefs, and the teases became a gasp. Through the fabric, Simon thumbed at his head, watching in rapt desire as the fabric darkened with moisture.
"Simon, please- I need ye. Could- could ye fuck me, or- d'ya care who does whit?"
"You'll have me inside you?" Simon murmured, eyes flicking up from teasing his cock, up to his eyes, blown and inviting, bright with lust. Need.
Need that only Simon could fulfil.
"Please."
He lifted his ass as Simon slid his ruined trousers off, and gasped again as rather than being set back down, his legs were folded up, and Simon had dove down to nose at his cock, his balls, the tender flesh behind.
"Oh-hh-f uck, Simon." More pleading, cursing, and his name, yes , he would fuck him. He licked at the fabric, further stretching and soaking it, following his sack to his hole. Breathing him in. Pushing against that sensitive spot.
His efforts were rewarded with more noise, and hips bucking against his face, so he did it again, and again, reveling in the tremble of thighs around his head. Something in his soul, if he still had one, knew he belonged here. Delivering pleasure, being begged for it.
"C'mon, Simon, I cannae stand it, get 'em off and get in me- at least somethin, please ."
"My tongue?" Simon said, voice low, almost more sensation against Soap's skin than sound. "My fingers? My cock?" Bizarrely, Simon lamented for a moment that he couldn't do all three at once. He wanted it all, and he wanted to push Johnny to the edge. Maybe past it. Find his limits and dip him over it like a fancyass dancer, leave him teetering over too much. Threaten to drop him. Simon was the only thing keeping him from too much.
Soap needed Simon, and the curses Soap made just proved that, so he finally slid his thoroughly soaked boxers off his legs and throwing them aside as if they'd personally offended him.
He didn't dive back in, just looked down at him. Cock dark and veined, heavy against his stomach, dripping sticky pre into his own pubes. Legs bent up, on his own now, begging Simon to go deeper, and barely visible below, in the dark, was where Simon would go.
Inside him.
Soap took the moment to fumble with Simon's jeans, and he helped by taking them off, shuffling, but left his boxers on. He wanted to focus on Soap. This was about Soap.
Something in him was sure that, virgin or not by whatever fucked-up, made-up definition, if he touched his raw, exposed cock- his skin- to Soap, something would happen. He would- he would go off like a shot, come, be overwhelmed- so he kept them on, batting Soap's hands away.
"I don't have-"
But Soap reached for the bedside drawer, twisting a little, giving Simon a second to admire the musculature of his back, and procured a little bottle that he offered to Simon, grinning crookedly.
"Hid that in here a bit ago. Jest in case."
"A regular boy scout," Simon snorted, head clearing a little now that he wasn't surrounded by Soap, nose and mouth full of his most intimate scent. He was glad Soap wasn't pissed he'd ripped his jeans.
"Cummoan, or do ye want me to-?"
Simon gave him a glare, to which he grinned back at, stroking a doting hand up Simon's side. "I wonder if I can still scratch ye up good, what wit the not-circulating-blood thing."
"Give me your best, you're welcome to try," Simon said, pouring lube into his hand and sticking up his fingers, leaning back in to fold one of Soap's legs between their chests. "Don't be gentle with me."
"Aye, and not ye wit me," Soap said quickly, gripping his shoulders and tugging him down for a kiss.
It was perfectly timed- he got to taste and feel the low moan as he sank a finger into Soap, could feel his shoulders drop and him melt into the bed a little in submission to being finally penetrated. He stroked inside him, the slick tight channel silken around his finger.
He spared a moment to imagine how he would feel around his cock and almost went blind for a moment, biting Soap's shoulder to ground himself as he nudged the tight rim of him with a second finger, testing and massaging until that, too, slid in.
"Si, fuck," Soap panted in an almost unrecognizable voice, high and tight.
"Okay?"
"Yes, fuck, yes."
Ghost pressed in, drew out, pressed in again in a warm-up of what was to come. His hands felt scorching and shivery, his iron sniper's steadiness abandoning him as he abandoned himself to the needwantfuck. It was washing over him like water, making him blink and struggle to focus and breathe, like he was the one being prepared.
"Another," Johnny whined, and Simon slipped a third finger in, now able to twist his hand without two fingers keeping him from going deep. He massaged Soap's inside, going by feel, careful not to lead with his fingernails even though they were short as could be. He just needed to get Soap there, get him there, and then he could join him.
When Soap gasped so hard it was almost a scream, Ghost gritted his teeth and bowed his head, keeping at it. Had to make it good for Soap. Had to make sure he was ready. Ready for all of it.
As if he was inside Simon more than he was in Soap, he shakily said, "ahm good, 's good, Si, please fuck me, or ahm gonnae cum right fuckin' like this."
Simon needed no other encouragement, slowly drawing his fingers from Soap and reaching for the lube to slick himself up, but Soap sat up and put his hands on the bottle first.
"Can I…? Havenae even gitae touch you."
"I…"
Something in Simon was rising, drawn forth by the smell of sex and the scorch of another life wrapped around his undead flesh, blood surging hot as if it was his own skin, alive again and throbbing with it. Something… something.
"No condom, I'm clean, and yer… well…" Johnny didn't look like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to say, but he was, and Simon said it for him.
"Dead. If you're sure."
"Ahm sure… just… I like it rough, but it's been a while. Was kinda waitin on ye for a bit there," he admitted, blush deepening.
"For me," Simon repeated, voice low as thunder, hand resting on the edge of his own briefs. "You could…"
Yes
"...go on your hands and knees. It'll be easier that way. Less like to hurt."
fuck him like life
"Mm, you'll jest havetae rub me neck tomorrow when it's sore, cos I wannae see ye."
"Deal," Simon said easily, offering a gentlemanly hand to get him to sit up, gently guiding him to turn, hands soft on him as he put his palms flat on the bed, knees and shins and feet flexed to dig his toes in.
It felt like he was holding the ocean, with those sweet gestures, and when Soap rewarded his efforts by looking over his own shoulder with a smouldering gaze and arching his back- fuck, he was fucking - presenting himself like a bitch in heat-
Something
happened.
Something snapped .
Ghost secured a shaking hand on one hip, and his other hand seized his own briefs and in a white-out moment like before- they were just gone, tattered fabric in his hand, and he was holding his cock, hard as steel and pulsing
(Where was the pulse coming from? His heart was still, he had no beat, so how-?)
and slick in his hand, before Soap could try and help, he had guided the blunt head of himself against his opening
life
stretched and red and begging, so he pushed in, feeling heat part around himself, resistance and then more heat, more more more, heat
blood-filled, blood-throbbing, blood-hot, blood-red, life-tight and blood-hot
There was some sort of snarling noise coming from between Ghost's teeth, and his hips were flush with Soap's ass, and he was inside him. Soap's back had bowed even more, and his mouth was open in ecstacy.
the ecstacy of life, alive, blood-hot and bred
Simon couldn't breathe.
But he didn't need to.
He didn't just snap his hips against Soap, but pressed in with his knees, his stomach, his chest, pounding him with a frenetic need that he hadn't known until now. He needed. He needed .
Soap's hands were curled into claws, scrabbling at the bed, and Simon's were claws too, digging into Soap's hip, pressing up against his stomach, coarse trail of hair under his palm, under his navel, and he could feel himself inside Soap when he pressed a little harder.
He gritted his teeth so hard they creaked, and he wasn't pounding into Soap like usual, wasn't feeding his cock back and forth through the tightest ring of him- it wasn't the grip or the tight he needed, it was- it was deeper than that, in every sense of the word, what he needed from Soap was so deep and he had to reach it.
Soap was moaning higher and higher, shoulders giving out, and Simon followed him down, over him, behind him like a shadow, following close like-
like death
And Simon felt him flexing around him, first hard, harder, harder, and then rhythmically, the sound of his cries changing from begging and desperation to something more overwhelmed and relieved. Distantly, Simon realized that was Johnny, coming.
But Something was Happening. To Ghost.
He couldn't stop.
Johnny was gasping something, a little laughingly, turning his head against the pillow to show Simon half his face, cringing but pleased- it became more cringing and he made more noise, words Ghost couldn't hear over the bloodless rushing in his own ears as he ground deep into Soap
into the life, find it
His body was barely his anymore. No, he was his body's, and he was riding out this, this Something that was Happening.
He needed it, deep and hard, life under him, around him, he sank his fingers deeper into his hip and gut so he was surrounded by life there, too, and dug his teeth in so even his bones were in the life.
Something was happening, and Simon realized the something was happening harder, it was- he'd thought it was happening, but now it was really about to happen.
An edge. He was on an edge, panting and gasping even though he didn't need to, bucking, surrounded by heat, wrapped in its grip, maybe he was dying- but he knew death, had done that, and this, this was something different.
Not death. Not even the little death. Something.
"-imon, please, it's too much-"
"I can't," Simon keened against his sweat-slick back, grinding his teeth so he wouldn't take an actual chunk out of Soap. " I can't- it's- I can't stop, I'm-"
But he wasn't sure what he was, only that Johnny was alive, and Simon was- Ghost was-
The edge hit him like lightning, like the tide, like a bullet, or a bomb. And it wasn't an edge.
He bellowed as it went through him, wracking his body with spasms, and Johnny writhed in overstimulation as well-
And then it went into Johnny, who wailed.
Where he was inside Johnny, his cock, it felt like he was splitting apart. But rather than pain, it was something… something. Something new. Like coming, if coming was being seized in God's fist and melted to nothing. He felt liquid and rock all at once, and something was happening inside Johnny.
But it wasn't over. In this way, it was like a climax. Because it happened again . A wave. A spasm.
He groaned high through his teeth, hips jerking against Soap again, who gasped.
And it happened again. Racing through him. Into Johnny.
Again.
Under the hand he had pressed up against Johnny's low stomach, he felt it building and swelling. First it was himself that he felt swelling, but soon, he couldn't feel that anymore, as whatever went through him went into Johnny. Filling him. Stuffing him.
Breeding him.
Life .
Simon bent beneath it, pulsing without a pulse, without a beating heart, slave to it, and pinned beneath him, stuck on him, Johnny had to ride it with him. His sounds quieted, now his mouth only parting without noise, silent overcome.
Just when Simon thought surely- thought, as if he had anything left of his mind after being shaken to bits over and over and over- they were both going to die, it began to ebb.
One last impossible pulse. He felt his eyes burn, but there were no tears.
He fell.
But only for a moment, blinking, insensate, before he realized.
Johnny .
He couldn't fall. Because Johnny had fallen, and one of them had to- he had to- he would save Johnny from anything.
(How was he to save Johnny from himself?)
His hand lightly touched his shoulder. The one that wasn't bleeding sluggishly from crescent-shaped wounds. His skin was fever-hot and sweat-slick, but there was no response.
He grabbed the shoulder, giving it a faint shake and squeeze.
"Johnny?" he whispered, throat coarse and wrecked.
He drew his hand back, noticing it was the exact same size and shape as the dark red and purple bruise on his side. It shook. His hand.
Johnny was still.
"F-f-fuck. Johnny? Please."
There was a breath. Audible. Like an attempt to make sound.
Another. A hum.
"How- how…?"
"Solid."
The word was whispered, and Johnny curled onto his side, facing Simon, knees tucked in a protective fetal position, eyes swollen and red. His cheeks were streaked with tears, lashes stuck together.
"Fuck. Fuck . I don't- I don't know what that was, Johnny, I'm so fucking sorry- can you move?"
"Mm." His eyes fell closed, and Simon lunged for him, pushing two fingers against his neck.
His heart was beating. Strong, a little fast, but slowing as he recovered from…
"N'th t' p'll-ll-jzz."
"E-english, MacTavish," Simon tried tearfully.
Johnny's eyes opened again, and he squinted up. "Hmm. Mm. Hey. Hey. It's alright."
That just made his eyes burn worse, and Simon shook his head furiously.
"I- I ought to be telling you that," he hissed. "I don't know what the fuck that was, I'm so-"
"Donnae say sorry," Johnny said, blinking slowly. "M'fine."
"Nothing about any of that was fine. I'm taking you to medical."
"Nae, what? No."
"Yes. I- yes."
"No."
" Now . I'll carry you."
But Soap made a discontented whine, stretching his arms. Like he'd just woke from a nap.
"Nae. I'm fine. That was… somethin'. Could've used a warning, but I ragrat nothin'."
" I do . We don't know- I don't know- can I at least check you over?"
"Mm. Feel free."
Soap stretched his legs and arms away from his body with a pleased hum, and Simon's hand landed on his stomach, the entire room briefly giving a hard rotation as horror washed over him.
"Mm? Si? Whit is it?" Johnny looked down at himself, and Simon drew his hand away so they could both see…
Nothing.
"See? Ahm fine. Pure loused, but fine. Swear ye fucked the soul right outta me, Ghost," he said, chuckling, all loose, dopey bliss.
Simon stroked his hand over him again, disbelieving. What had he thought he'd seen?
Something.
He looked down at himself. His cock looked normal. Soft, spent, still a little sticky with drying lube and come.
It hadn't felt normal.
It was perhaps the first time he'd felt it. His death. He was dead. Perhaps the first time he'd felt properly, well…
Inhuman.
"Nothin's wrong, Si, come cuddle me," Soap said petulantly, opening his arms.
Cautiously, feeling a little unreal after all of that, and now this, Simon went to him, letting Soap push him down and wrap his arms around him, using his pecs as a pillow and nuzzling in.
Maybe… maybe it had been nothing. Maybe he was just- just losing his virginity again. Maybe he was making a fuss about nothing. It had been a long time since he'd had sex, or even come. He remembered it took him in waves, overwhelming spasms of pleasure. That was that, right? It had just seemed like… a lot. Like something.
Maybe that was always like that, having sex for the first time, or with someone he loved.
That was… oh.
He loved Soap, didn't he? His Sargent, Johnny, his- he loved him.
It hadn't been nothing. It had been something.
Love.
He held him tightly and listened to his breathing even out into sleep, and after a while, felt himself drift out after him.
Deep within them both, Something churned.
life